


Sorry about that

by SundialBloom



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Gen, M/M, Nick carraway is autistic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SundialBloom/pseuds/SundialBloom
Summary: Nick has been in a rather awful mood these past few days, and it only grows worse when he tries to attend one of Gatsby’s parties to fix it.Now after a rough night, Nick has Gatsby’s favorite pink handkerchief. But he can't seem to pull himself together and return it.... in fact... he doesn't really want to





	1. Yellow, Indigo, pink

**Author's Note:**

> Editting and making things sound right? Never heard of it! (Im so terribly sorry)

The party had been at full swing for about three hours now, and it did not appear to have an end in sight. Sparkling lights and throngs of people attacked the senses at all times. The glimmer of jewelry from a distance was starting to give Nick a headache and he began to ponder returning home to his cottage, however, it occurred to him that he had not yet seen Gatsby this night.

That wasn't necessarily a strange thing. There were nights where Gatsby was not even seen at all until the very end. Women shuffling and holding their high heels out of the mansion, and men scuffling to put on their suit jackets as they left the premises. Leaving a rather quiet but faintly smiling Gatsby to stare off into the distance out across the bay. There was also the nights where his appearances were brief, a quick hello before disappearing to where Nick could never follow. 

However, Nick prefered the nights where Gatsby stayed glued to his side, pulling nick through the mansion and occasionally making conversation with others. ultimately enjoying the festivities with each other. It made him happy, to be close to someone he knew, Nick had found. And although he didn't particularly like big extravagant parties, experiencing it beside Gatsby was magical, as if the man had a way of turning the loud instruments and flashing lights into a garden of fun and delight wrapped up in his own unique charm.

Nick was feeling rather strange lately, not exactly sick but, unbalanced. It left him feeling empty and cold, as well as unnerved during the weekends when he spent time alone in his cottage. The silence and air felt like a heavy pressure, and while feeling choked in his own home he quickly jumped on a chance to spend his night a bit away. he was one of the first to arrive at Gatsby’s weekly party, and although it had been rather awkward at first, as time went on, the party ebbed away to its normal demeanour. He had then been able to relax a bit, but this gnawing feeling inside him still nipped at his heart. As of right now, Nick found himself not wanting to go back to his lonely abode without at least saying a hello to Gatsby, pondering that maybe seeing his dear friend would improve the mood he had settled in.

Somehow, by a stroke of luck, Nick caught sight of Gatsby. Almost immediately Nick found himself calmer, and a fond smile stretched across his face as he watched Gatsby animatedly talk to a group of women who watched with avid attention. They were tucked away on some couches near a corner, sipping wine and pressed close to better hear what Gatsby was saying. Nick couldn't piece exactly what he said, but Gatsby must have finished his story, or joke, and the women laughed enormously and mock swatted each other in delight and joy. Gatsby seemed to lean back, grinning in a quiet satisfied way as if he had just done something a good host would do. And Gatsby was, whether he knew or not, a good host. It spoke in his generosity, and openness to all. Although with the rumours that spindled Gatsby’s life, Nick couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of Gatsby being labeled a “bad host” and returned his attention back to his friend.

Gatsby was staring back, mouth slightly open in surprise and eyes wide. The look on his face made Nick look away, he felt. . .flustered. Gatsby was always able to invoke such a reaction in Nick, somehow his piercing blue eyes and slight smile was enough to overwhelm him completely, making nick feel not only unbalanced mentally, but physically. The man shook the earth rather easily. Nick chalked it up to the charm and confidence Gatsby seemed to ooze from every pore, without ever meaning to.

Now that Nick was a bit overwhelmed, he realized how awful he truly felt at the moment. Noises seemed especially urgent and loud, and lights offended his eyes in a way he wasn't used to feeling. He felt too crowded by the onslaught of guests, but he couldn't bring himself to move, too caught up in his thoughts and how foggy his head felt.

While Nick was busy thinking over Gatsby’s charm, eyes cast downwards at perfectly polished tiles, Gatsby had been slowly pushing his way past random strangers, who danced with drunk enthusiasm, to get closer to him. Gatsby had frowned in concern at the way Nick seemed to suddenly grow weary, eyes unfocusing as he gazed somewhere Gatsby could only assume to be nowhere. Concerned as well as excited to see his friend, Gatsby quickly made his way to his side.

“You alright, Old Sport?” Gatsby said, pressing a hand to nicks shoulder in worry. Nick jumped in surprise, startling in a way that caused his feet to twist and almost fall over. Gatsby was fast to grab him, and his worry only seemed to grow at how little that seemed to bring a reaction out of Nick. Gatsby helped Nick straighten back up, and Nick muttered an apology, sagging a bit where he stood.

The live orchestra suddenly erupted in sharp loud trumpets, the beginning of a solo. Nick flinched and cried out a bit suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to cover his ears with his shaking hands. Gatsby frowned and grabbed a hold of Nick’s arm, guiding him towards the back of the mansion the best he could. Nick moved stiffly, which provided a sense of annoyance for Gatsby, but even that flew away as he struggled to get nick through a door and down a corridor deserted of people. His friend was unwell, and it didn't sit comfortably with Gatsby. If Nick’s quiet mewls of pain made Gatsby walk a little faster and tighten his grip, well he did not dare mention it.

Through Nick’s pain filled haze he vaguely took notice of how Gatsby had led him to his more private area of the mansion. The music was now a dull hum compared to the blast of sound it used to be, and the lights seemed more stagnant, more of how Nick had grown to expect of them. A wave of tranquility entered Nick as he realized how much easier it was to breathe suddenly, he had not noticed that he had started to hyperventilate somewhere along their trek. The idea of his quickened breaths echoing along the big empty corridors made him a bit embarrassed.

Gatsby steered Nick to a plush couch that nested neatly beneath a large bay window, its leather texture illuminated roughly by the moon right above it. Nick was exhausted and hastily curled into a ball against the arm rest. Arms covering his face. For a while, all there was was his shallow quick breathing, and his attempts to reign in his fear and anxiety. He eventually felt a dip in the couch where Gatsby had sat down beside him. 

A soft cloth made contact with his clenched shut hand and it caused him to jolt his head up. Jay was looking at him with bright apologetic concern, his pastel pink handkerchief gently being handed to Nick in a form of comfort. It suddenly became apparent to Nick that his face was entirely wet with tears, as well as the arm rest slowly having small darkened spots from which his tears had fallen. Hot embarrassment flashed through him, and he quickly took the incredibly soft handkerchief and rubbed it across his disgusting face and dabbed at Gatsby’s couch. He croaked out apologies as he pondered how the couch must cost compared to his own house. Unfortunately, the attempts to force himself into normalcy only made the textures of his suit feel even rougher against skin, and the all too bright lights of the mansion made new tears well up and threaten to fall once again.

“Nick, stop,” came Jay’s voice, just barely above a whisper. Nick froze almost immediately from the use of his name, but the tone of voice made him hesitant. It was thick, kind, and desperate. Nick screwed his eyes shut, uncomfortable by the eye contact and stopped moving, rubbing the silky texture of the handkerchief with a shaky hand.

“The Party was a bit too much for you wasn't it?” Jay’s voice was soft, not too demanding but gentle in the way it prodded with questions. Nick silently thanked him for not growing too loud, and nodded curtly. Jay hummed in response, before growing silent again. Nick continued to try and bring his heartbeat back to normal. He felt a shift to his left, hushed footsteps, and then a quiet “click!” of a switch. Hesitantly, Nick opened his eyes.

The room was completely shadowed. The only light that illuminated the threshold being that of the moon, highlighting corners, metal antiques, and Jay’s strange expression. Nick couldn't bring push himself to decipher it however, distracted by his own immediate sigh of relief at the lack of loud buzzing and bright fluorescent lights. 

Jay’s posture seemed to relax at this and began to take stride towards Nick. His brisk but purposeful walk back was deliberately quiet, but his presence was heavy. The contrasting input was a bit of a whirlwind. Nick felt his limbs and mind ache with a sudden tiredness that he had thought would have dashed away by now. He had gone to the party to rid himself of this feeling after all! It had weighed him down for days, blurring the edges of his vision and making him want to scream.

But, as he continued to rub Jay’s handkerchief in gentle repetitive matter, and was once again be guided by his dear friend, he allowed himself, just this once, to feel it.

He doesn't remember getting into a lovely big bed, trimmed with gold lacing, nor does he remember how Gatsby gently ushered him out of his clothing. All he remembers in the coming morning is the ghost of lips on his forehead, and a gentle voice bidding him goodnight.


	2. Olive Green, Banana Yellow, Lime Green

To say Nick was functioning at 100% capacity was a rather bold faced, and mildly amusing to onlookers, lie. This entire past week had been spent nervously avoiding windows, not leaving his cottage for anything besides work, and ultimately, avoiding Jay Gatsby.

Of course, he is wasn't upset or angry with the showy man, quite the contrary. In fact, the main reason Nick had found himself ducking behind curtains and out of view of headlights was merely due to the presence of a small pink handkerchief that rested, neatly folded, in his trouser’s pocket.

No matter how many times Nick tried, he could not bring himself to return it. He'd start planning things out, get a bit overwhelmed about trying to confront gatsby as to why he still had it, and eventually realized through his internalized panic that he had been thumbing the soft cloth in a pattern for quite some time. At one point Gatsby had come directly to his home, rather disheveled, asking if he had seen said handkerchief. Nick, lying through his teeth, had said he'd returned it already to a staff member of Gatsby’s home. Then watched with avid guilt as Gatsby, with as much sauve as possible, rushed home in a suit that looked like it hadn't been washed in days.

His strange attachment to the item never ceased to amaze him, even with his guilt. It was silly how instantaneous he could begin to calm down, or think a bit more clearly, when he was brushing against the texture of it. But, with each passing day, and more and more panic attacks being averted, Nick couldn't deny that the stolen item worked wonders. 

Which is why Nick now sat, rather uncomfortably in his slightly-broken recliner, gazing deeply into his cup of tea as the one and only Jordan Baker sat across from him on his couch, wine glass in hand and eyes not unlike a hawk.

“You were rather obscure in your reasonings for my attendance,” she began slowly, taking a sip of her wine and assessing Nick. His clothes were a bit more ruffled than normal, his cheeks slightly flushed and hair moosed up in a strange direction. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well. Although he didn't look up from his steaming cup, ever so slowly, he seemed to shrink under her gaze.

After a moment where Jordan had started to wonder whether or not she should pry him free of the shell he had created from his hunched shoulders, Nick unfurled, sighing in defeat and placing his tea back to it's saucer on the table beside him.

“I took something of Jay’s,” he murmured, rifling through his coat pocket, “w-well, it was originally given to me for a brief moment, but I have long since kept it overdue from its original purpose.” he pulled out the pink handkerchief, thumb already slightly stroking it from nerves, and showed Jordan with a bleak look.

“You called for a visit of importance over a handkerchief?” Jordan practically barked, she loved Nick but she had been rather busy preparing for another golfing tournament that would be coming up in the next month. She was supposed to be trying out her new golf clubs and practicing her accuracy. Nick flinched at her volume and ducked his head again.

“well, Yes,” he licked his lips, “I trust you not to make fun of me.” Jordan blinked with surprise as Nick gave a bashful smile. Her eyes darted back down to the handkerchief and the way he methodically touched it, and nodded gently at the truth in those words.

“I'm in a bit of a bind, you could say,” said Nick, shaking his leg softly, “I had a bit of a mishap at one if his parties, he gave it to me to help, and now I can't bring myself to return it.” Jordan stared at him quizzically and took another sip of her wine. Her gaze alone pressed him with questions.

“can't. . . or won't?” his mouth twitched.

“. . . Won't,” Nick muttered, cheeks red with embarrassment. He ducked his head and hid behind his hands, shoe tapping against his old wood floors at a more rapid pace.

“Gatsby has money, dear, He can buy another one.” Jordan tries to reassure. Nick only shakes his head and starts picking at his cufflings. He frowns.

“It doesn't work that way!” he bursts out,  pausing for a moment to regain his composure, “it doesn't work that way,” he tries again. Jordan watches patiently as he takes time to plan out his next sentence. He licks his lip again.

“Gatsby has pre-planned outfits you see. Every day is planned and every outfit goes together in a certain set. I completely disrupted his system!” 

“I still don't see why he can't just purchase another, there's a store right before the bridge out of town chalked full of them”

“he would never dare replace it, Jordan! the one he gave me was a parting gift from someone he cared about.” ah, there it was, the main source of guilt. The moment the words left his mouth Nick seemed to deflate and grow weary, emotions battling each other across his face.

Jordan watched with fascination. She didn't quite understand the problem, but she could tell it was obviously stressing her dear friend out. She stood up suddenly, startling Nick, and walked her way to the front door. She beckoned for him to follow after a moment where he stood rigid, unable to forsee what he was to do. 

She brought him over to her car and told him to get in. Maybe a day downtown and some lovely food from her favorite restaurant would help. Nick sat down and buckled without a word, and with a slight nod they were off.

Half way across the bridge to New York from Long island Nick told Jordan about Gatsby. Particularly how he had been wearing the same bright pink suit and grey handkerchief for a week and a half. The force of Jordan's laughter was enough to startle the car, swerving it into another lane and erupting the air with an array of honks and yells. She eventually found her correct path once again, however it took her quite some time before her giggles pittered out. 

Nick had not originally found the situation funny, especially since he was the cause of it after all, but after watching Jordan almost possibly harm them once again from joy at the image, he couldn't help but smile a bit. He did not like the idea of Gatsby being unhappy because of his actions, but the painted portrait of the extremely overdramatic man that was Jay, fumbling his way through a mountain of expensive handkerchiefs and wailing his woes, was rather funny.

As they pulled into a parking spot along the road and strode their way to a quant but delightfully detailed and shining establishment, Nick let himself purposely stroke the small pink material, sighing with relief. Meanwhile, Jordan watched with careful eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhhhh im kinda only writing this when the mood strikes me so uh. Sorry if u actually like this story

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao can you believe this started out as a vent fic and then actually became a story


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